


Love to Be Loved

by havisham



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Matchmaking, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9557027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Victor loves Yuuri, almost overwhelmingly.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nomical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/gifts).



> Happy Victuuri Day, nomical! Hope you like this. ♥

Victor loved to wake Yuuri up from sleep slowly, and with care.

Maybe it was strange, but as the cold light of morning streamed into his St. Petersburg apartment, Victor would shuffle in, a hot cup of tea in his hands, and watch Yuuri stir in their big white bed. Yuuri loved to be wrapped in blankets for most of the night, but in the morning, his body began to heat up and he began to throw them off, one by one.

His breathing was loud in the quietness of the room, and only slowly did his head poke out the pile of blankets. Victor grinned at seeing the shock of black hair and had to restrain himself from reaching out and pushing it away from Yuuri’s face. But that would wake him too soon, and so Victor only crept closer, leaving his cup of tea steaming on the bedside table. 

Victor was twenty-eight years old. A five time gold medalist and the hero of Russia. A living legend (though the last bit always made him feel unpleasantly like an ancient plated fish swimming in some forgotten corner of the ocean) -- anyway, he was too old and too mature to sneak back into bed with Yuuri, and pretend to wake up with him. 

So he wouldn’t. Instead, he sat on his side of the bed, and watched Yuuri sleep. Yuuri turned with a little moan, the tip of his nose turning pink in the cool air. Sleeping Beauty, indeed. 

Victor sometimes worried that he kept his apartment too cold for Yuuri. But Yuuri never complained, nor did he offer Victor any guidance when he had asked Yuuri, a little desperately, about how warm he wanted the apartment to be. 

“I’m comfortable with whatever you like, Victor!” Yuuri had said, smiling and Victor had wanted to kiss him all over his beautiful, beloved face. So, Victor decided to raise the temperature a few degrees and see if it agreed with Yuuri. 

He was so close now that it seemed a shame that he wouldn’t be able to reach out and touch Yuuri, gently so as not to wake him. Victor’s finger skated lightly down his forehead and across the curve of Yuuri’s cheek and then lingered against the lushness of Yuuri’s mouth. Victor felt the slight pressure of Yuuri’s teeth against the tip of his finger. 

Victor murmured quietly, “Ah. Got you.” 

Yuuri’s eyelashes fluttered and there was a flash of white underneath them. Unconsciously, Yuuri’s mouth curved upward into a smile. He rolled over to where Victor sat, resting his head against Victor’s lap. “Good morning, Victor.” 

“Good morning, Yuuri. Slept well?” 

Yuuri nodded and yawned. 

There was no need for restraint now. Victor stroked Yuuri’s hair, admiring the feel of it against his fingers. He was unspeakably glad that Yuuri had chosen to grow it out, and took every opportunity to show his appreciation. 

Yuuri turned up his head and blinked at him, sleep clearing from his eyes as he noted Victor’s state of dress (that is to say, dressed) and the morning light filtering in through the windows of their bedroom. He jerked up, panic apparent on his face. “We’re late! I’m so sorry, Victor! I didn’t mean to oversleep. Will Yakov be angry?” 

He began to pull at his clothes, realizing quickly that he wasn’t wearing any, and looked at Victor for help. 

Victor decided to put him out of his misery, adorable though it was. “Yakov always wakes up angry, so yes. But not at us yet. We have a late practice today.” 

Yuuri relaxed and sank back into the bed. 

Victor nodded, slapping his thighs. “Take your time, I’ve made breakfast.” Which he would need to heat up again. He got up, but before he could go far, Yuuri grabbed his hand. 

Shyly, Yuuri said, “Stay with me?” 

Victor sure he should at least put up some token resistance to the idea. Instead, he grinned and climbed back into bed with Yuuri.

It was exactly where he wanted to be. 

*

As he was cuddling with Yuuri and counting his blessings as (surely!) one of the happiest men on Earth, Victor’s phone buzzed. It put him in a bit of an awkward position -- he did want to see what it was, but there was no force on Earth that would stop him from from doing what he was now, which was wrapping his arms around Yuuri and placing little kisses on his neck and face. Victor’s phone buzzed again, annoyingly insistent. 

“Are you going to get that?” Yuuri asked him, yawning a little. 

“No,” Victor said, intent on exploring the interesting hollows of Yuuri’s throat, which tickled as Yuuri spoke. 

“Victor,” Yuuri gasped, and his gasp turned into a moan as Victor kissed him a little harder, sucking at a spot of tender skin on Yuuri’s neck. “I need to … take a shower. I probably stink.” 

“Mmm, no. You smell so nice and warm, Yuuri, I want to--” 

Yuuri pulled away from him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You're too much!” 

“I can show you much I can be,” Victor said meaningfully, but Yuuri shook his head and rolled out of bed, leaving him bereft. 

“See you in five minutes,” Yuuri said, waving behind him, leaving Victor in desperate straits. He tried to compose himself -- breathing exercises, imagining Yakov in drag, thinking of Yuri not giving Makkachin back after his morning run -- but nothing seemed to do the trick. He was too worked up. He heard the pipes squeak as Yuuri turned on the shower, heard the rush of water through them. 

Victor leaned back against his headboard with a deep sigh. He longed to join Yuuri, but didn’t think he would welcome that yet. Yuuri seemed to hold his shower time to be sacrosanct. 

Victor’s phone buzzed again, and this time he picked it up. It was Chris, of all people, who was calling him and texting him from the airport in Saint Petersburg. “Ah, Chris!" Victor said picking up the phone, “what are you doing in Russia?” 

“Everyone is in Russia!” Chris said cheerfully, “so I thought I ought to be here too. It's only for the weekend though, I don't want to get Coach too angry at me.” 

“Where are you staying?” 

Chris named a new glitzy hotel that had recently been built under the name of an addled American billionaire, a kind of place that looked good for a while and then rapidly degenerated. Victor shook his head sadly. “The restaurant there is terrible. Nouvelle steamed boot cuisine. Come have dinner with us tonight.” 

“Will Yuuri mind?” 

Yuuri had just come into the room, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Victor pulled his ear away from his phone and said, “Yuuri, Chris is in town. Should we have him for dinner?” 

Yuuri gave him one of those looks he got when he felt trapped by sudden social interactions that he hadn’t prepared for, but his face cleared quickly. He said, “Why not? It would be good to catch up.” 

And then with a tiny smile, he continued, “And if we get bored, we can eat Chris.” 

“What’s that?” Chris said, his voice tinny over the line. 

“Only Yuuri threatening cannibalism if you’re boring. Come around seven-ish, will you?” 

“I can't wait,” Chris said, with a deep sigh. Victor wanted to tease him further, but there was a series of furious knocks at the door -- Yuri must have come back with Makkachin. So Victor said goodbye to Chris and let Yuri inside. 

Yuri was pouting by the time Victor opened the door. He shoved Makkachin’s leash against Victor’s chest. “This the last time I take your dog for a walk for you! Find another slave.” 

“Ah, my darling Makkachin!” Victor said, getting down to pat his dog and let her lick his face. “Did you enjoy your walkies with Uncle Yura?” 

“Disgusting,” Yuri said as Makkachin woofed her assent.

The breakfast Victor made was more than enough for them all. Victor, who had lived alone for most of his adult life and was used to cooking rather severe meals, chosen for their nutritional value than their taste or look, now wanted to experiment with both. 

Of course, they still had to be healthy. Coming back into competition shape meant that Victor, with great regret, had to cut katsudon almost entirely from his diet. But he didn't want Yuuri to suffer from homesickness and so had been practising his traditional Japanese cooking. 

The only problem -- well, one of the many problems -- was that the ingredients were a little hard to come by here, and buying online and shipping to Russia could only go so far. But still, Victor was proud of this -- “Yuuri, it took some doing, but I managed to get natto for your breakfast today!” 

Yuuri paled at the sight of it.

Yuri reached over and broke off a piece of it and popped into his mouth. “Yurio, no--” Yuuri said, alarmed, but it was too late. Yuri choked and spat it out onto the counter. Makkachin, who had been watching the drama unfold excitedly, jumped up and licked up the piece of natto before anyone else could stop her.

After a small, stunned silence, Victor blinked and smiled at Yuuri. “I also made miso soup -- from scratch, not instant! And eggs and bacon too, if you’re still hungry.” 

Yuuri beamed back at him. “Thank you, Victor!” 

“You two are _sickening_ ,” Yuri said, letting his head sink into his arms, pressing his forehead against the counter. 

“Not as sickening as natto,” Yuuri said fervently. Then he laughed. “I appreciate the effort though.” 

“There’s ten pounds of it in the fridge,” Victor said, trying to keep an unbeat expression on his face, especially when he saw it slide off Yuuri’s like blade on the ice. 

*

Practice went by quickly -- but it always did when Victor was skating with Yuuri. They were busy planning for the next season -- Victor’s own, shortened season had been a little anticlimactic and Yuuri, though he had skated well in all the competitions after the Grand Prix Finale, still didn’t have a gold medal. 

(He had won silver at the Japanese Nationals -- Victor thought it was perhaps a combination of politics, nerves and his own absence that did it -- but still, it was so much better than what had happened last year.) 

“What do you think your themes will be next year?” Victor asked Yuuri as he skated past him. Yuuri spun around and skated back to Victor. 

“Rebirth, I think,” Yuuri said. 

“I was thinking that too,” Victor said. “A rebirth of love!” He couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss on Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri blushed a pretty pink and then escaped from Victor’s clutches. Victor smirked, watching him go. It wouldn’t be for long. 

“Quit mooning over there!” shouted Yakov from across the ice. “This is my ice rink, not some discotheque!” 

“Yakov, you’re so old-fashioned!” Victor yelled back. “They don’t have discotheques anymore!” 

“That’s what you think,” snickered Yuri, somewhere just out of reach. Victor whipped his head around, but that little bastard had disappeared somewhere. It couldn’t be true, of course. Yuri was too young to even know what discotheques were. He probably thought they were some kind of animal or something. 

*

Chris was looking good -- he was exceptionally tan and he had -- “Chris!” Victor exclaimed as he saw him coming up the stairs to their floor, “You’ve gone back to your original hair!” 

Chris laughed, ruffling his hair. “I was inspired by your posts of Yuuri -- I’m just growing it out! The bleached look was over anyway.” 

“I’m _so_ glad you realized,” Victor said, smiling, “I remember, it used to curl around your head like little sausage rolls. You were a cherub!” 

“Hi Chris,” said Yuuri, coming up from behind Victor. He was thrown a little when Chris enveloped him in a big hug and pressed his cheek against Yuuri’s. “ _Yuuri_ , if you’re ever -- even a little -- tired of that grey-haired old man over there, take a chance on me. I’m new and fresh and I can show you _so_ many things.” 

“Ha! You haven’t been new _or_ fresh since at least 2009,” Victor said, ushering the both of them inside the apartment. “Besides, my hair is platinum and always has been.” 

“I love your hair, Victor,” Yuuri offered shyly and Victor beamed at him. 

“That’s why I love you best, Yuuri!” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Chris sighed. 

*

Dinner was supposed to be a relaxed affair -- it wouldn’t do to make too much of a fuss over Chris. Yuri had appeared, almost by magic, almost as soon as Victor pulled the roast chicken out of the oven. Victor almost regretted giving him a key to the apartment, but it couldn’t be helped. 

“Go set the table,” he instructed Yuri, who scowled at him, his mouth already filled with a bread roll. 

“You’re not my father, I don’t have to do what you tell me,” he spat out, spraying crumbs everywhere. 

“God no,” Victor said, blinking. What a horrible thought, being Yuri’s father! He would have died from exhaustion by now. “But I am your friend and it would be nice if you helped me.” 

“Ugh,” Yuri said, taking the plates from the cabinets. “I hate it when you pretend to be mature.” 

“Pretend?” Victor fluttered a placemat against him like a fan. “I don’t have to pretend to be mature! I’m almost thirty years old.” 

Yuri gave him a crabby look, but was prevented from saying something by Yuuri, who wandered in, asking when dinner would be. Chris was taking an impromptu nap on the couch in the living room and it was getting late. 

*

Victor didn’t have a dining room table, so they ate at the big, marble topped kitchen table instead. There was a lot to talk about, from the last competitive season to all the plans for the coming summer and off-season. As they were speaking, Victor fixed his attention on Chris and wondered -- 

“Chris, what happened with that ice dancer of yours?” 

“Kris?” Chris said, frowning a little. “Nothing much. Why?” 

“I was only thinking… Yuuri and I are so happy together -- and I want you to be happy too! Chris and Kris -- it sounds like it’s meant to be.” 

“Your boyfriend is named Kris?” Yuri said, frowning. “How far up your own ass can you go?” 

“Pretty far. Besides, Kris isn’t my boyfriend, we just have sex sometimes,” Chris said matter-of-factly. “And I’m not like you two -- I don’t think I would be satisfied just pairing up with one other person.” 

“But I was like that too, before I met Yuuri,” Victor said earnestly. 

“Really, Victor?” Chris said, with a chuckle. “I think you were always -- searching for something real -- on and off the ice.” 

“Don’t you want that too, Chris?” Yuuri asked quietly and Victor turned to look at him, realizing a little late how quiet Yuuri had been all day. A little niggling bit of worry crept into his mind and he frowned, as if to banish it. 

Yuuri looked distracted and kept glancing at his right hand. Victor followed his gaze and paled. The ring he was so used to seeing on Yuuri’s hand was missing. Both Chris and Yuri noticed as soon as he had. 

At Victor’s silent question, Yuuri’s face turned red. He said, “I noticed when we got back from practice. I’ve been looking but --” 

Victor rose from his seat. “Don’t worry, my Yuuri. We’ll all look for it. Chances are good that it’s still in this apartment.” 

They spent the rest of the night tearing up the apartment, looking for Yuuri’s ring. Victor untwisted the wire hangers from the dry cleaner’s and tried to fish it out from the bathtub drain, but only came away clots of hair. The kitchen sink gave similar results. They moved the bed from the wall and searched there too. But Victor only found dusty scrunchies from his longer haired days and one of the Makkachin-themed socks that he had been looking for a long time. Not Yuuri’s ring. 

The evening wore on like this, devoted to the search. Eventually, Chris called it quits and went back his hotel. Yuri had gone first without telling anyone. And so Victor and Yuuri were left to their own devices.

Yuuri looked like he was ready to start tearing out his hair. “I can't believe I'm so stupid! How could I lose my ring? How?” 

“We’ll find it again,” Victor said. “If not, I could always buy you another …” He knew before he finished speaking it had been the wrong thing to say. Yuuri shot him a dark glare. 

“Do you seriously think,” he said, frowning, “that the ring can be _replaced_? If that can be, then what else --” 

Yuuri rarely let his anger show. But when he did, it was electrifying. 

Victor was half-ashamed at the pulse of excitement he felt, looking at Yuuri now, breathing hard and with sparks in his eyes. “Yuuri,” he said, “you must know what I meant…” 

“What did you mean? I can’t read your mind, Victor.” 

Victor smiled, albeit briefly. “Sometimes I forget.” Then, as gracefully as he could, he got on his knees and began to kiss Yuuri’s hands. How he loved his Yuuri’s hands! They were strong and refined and so, so beautiful. 

“Victor…” Yuuri said, his voice oddly choked. 

“The ring was never the important thing to me, only that you gave it to me and I gave it to you. Your hand without the ring is just as beautiful to me.” 

Yuuri sat down so abruptly that he nearly knocked Victor to the ground. Victor saved himself by wrapping his arms around Yuuri to steady himself. Yuuri looked up at him, an apology already on his lips, but Victor only laughed, and soon Yuuri joined him. And laughter turned quite into kisses, light and then deeper ones until Victor’s patience, well-tried, finally snapped. 

He gathered Yuuri in his arms and prepared to take him to bed, but Yuuri only yelped in alarm. “Victor, your back!” 

“My back is strong enough to bear you, beloved!” 

“If you hurt your back and Yakov learns that it’s because of me, I won’t recover!” Yuuri said, half in jest and half quite serious. 

“Good point,” Victor said, setting Yuuri down with a sigh. Then, brightly, he said, “Maybe I should let you carry me. Test that vaunted stamina of yours!” 

“We would get to bed quicker if we both walk there like normal people,” Yuuri said reasonably, leading Victor to the bed and pulling him down on top of him. 

Victor gave a squeak of delight, impossible to repress even if he wanted to, at the impact of Yuuri against him. Later, trapped between Yuuri’s muscular thighs, Victor thought there could be no doubt whatsoever that he was one of the happiest as well as the most lucky of men. 

*

Makkachin laid her head on top of Victor’s chest and whined, her tail thumping against the bed. Victor rang his fingers along Makkachin’s fur, reflecting that it was getting a little long. They would need to get her to the groomer’s soon. “Time for a walk, Makkachin?” 

Makkachin woofed, but quietly, so Yuuri would not wake. Victor frowned -- there was something stuck on Makkachin’s collar, tangled with the buckle and the fur. Makkachin wiggled out of his grasp but Victor caught her again. 

“This hurt me more than it hurts you, my darling,” Victor said, carefully untangling the object from Makkachin’s fur. Makkachin whined but let him do it and finally Victor pulled it free with a triumphant cry. 

In his hand was a very familiar ring -- Yuuri’s ring! Excitedly, Victor rolled over and shook Yuuri awake. “Yuuri! Yuuri! Wake up!” 

Yuuri, always slow to wake, eventually rolled over and gave Victor a blank look. “It's cold,” he said after a moment, reaching for his glasses. 

“Ah, I knew you didn't like it,” Victor said ruefully. “But Yuuri, look!” 

“Where did you find it?!” Yuuri said, snatching the ring from Victor’s open hand and putting it on. 

“In Makkachin!” Victor said cheerfully. “So you might want to wash it!” 

*

It was during practice that Victor saw the post from Chris’ Instagram -- a photo of Chris draped over Kris, blowing a kiss to the camera. They both looked happy and Victor was happy too, looking at them. 

“Look at that,” he said triumphantly to Yuuri, who was doing stretches beside him. “We’ve shown Chris the power of love and now he’s ready to take the leap himself!” 

Yuuri gave him a dubious look. 

“You don’t think that’s it?” Victor said, crestfallen. 

Yuuri leaned over and pressed a kiss on Victor’s cheek. “I think Chris is doing well and so are we.” 

“Ah, yes,” Victor said happily, reaching for Yuuri, “that’s really what I meant…” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my big friendo, S, for the beta. 
> 
> Title from Peter Gabriel.


End file.
